


off the record

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Journalist Oikawa, M/M, Super famous actor Iwaizumi, that, that is all i can say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oikawa’s not the type of journalist to let a small thing like an actor absolutely refusing to give interviews get in the way of his career</p><p>alternatively</p><p>journalist oikawa promises his editor a front page interview with one of japan’s most sought after actors; iwaizumi hajime. now he just has to figure out how he’s going to get the interview.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it is i, your friendly neighbourhood 'i love to put oikawa in the most ridiculous situations' fic writer with yet another ridiculous fic for your enjoyment

“This is, without a doubt, the worst thing I’ve ever read in my twenty-four years of life.”

“You spend your lunch break reading BuzzFeed articles.”

“And this is worse than all of them. _Combined_.”

“Even that ‘What Is Your Inner Potato?’ one?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Hanamaki pipes up somewhat defensively, swivelling around dramatically on his chair in order to shuffle closer to Matsukawa’s desk. “That was a truly _fascinating_ article and I, for one, know my quality of life has increased greatly since I found out I’m a _sweet potato_.”

“I was _criss cut fries_ ,” Matsukawa says almost fondly, “did you know that means I’m the life of the party?”

Oikawa makes a strangled noise and has to physically stop himself from slamming his head against the corner of his computer screen. “You guys aren’t helping _at all_.”

“He’s just mad because he got _Mr Potato Head_ ,” Hanamaki says sagely, shaking his head sympathetically at Oikawa, “it’s not that bad. Mr Potato Head was my personal fav-”

“If you finish that sentence, I _will_ chuck this stapler at your head. And I won’t miss.” He reaches for the intended weapon, watching as Hanamaki seems to contemplate just how likely it is that Oikawa will actually follow through with his threat.

Eventually he seems to come to the conclusion that the answer is _very likely_ (it is), and he shrugs before gesturing for Oikawa to continue.

“Thank you. _Now_ ,” he turns his attention back to Matsukawa, “what’s so bad about it?”

“It’s _boring_ ,” Matsukawa says bluntly, clearing his throat as he picks up Oikawa’s article and slides it across the desk to Hanamaki, “there’s not a single interesting fact in there, and I’m pretty sure I could find most of it on Wikipedia.”

Oikawa groans and allows his head to drop onto his desk with a loud _thud_. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a few of their coworkers eyeing them nervously. He shoots them an apologetic smile and tries not to think about his dwindling professional reputation as he sits upright and shuffles a little closer to Matsukawa’s desk. “Well I need _something_ to bring into the planning meeting.”

“Literally _anything_ would be better than this.”

Oikawa’s fingers inch towards the stapler again and Hanamaki pretends to be thoroughly interested in a piece of blu-tac stuck to his desk.

“Wise choice,” Oikawa grumbles trying desperately to ignore that panicky feeling he can sense bubbling in his stomach. This wasn’t what journalism was supposed to be like. Throughout university he’d daydreamed about spending his days in fancy restaurants and cosy hotel rooms, interviewing A-listers and uncovering government scandals worthy of a Pulitzer Prize. He did _not_ think that in reality he’d spend seven (sometimes more) hours a day, stuck in a stuffy office writing _filler_ stories day in, day out, while the big name journalists ran around doing the jobs _he’d_ been dreaming of doing all his life.

“Did you hear Tendou got an interview with Ukai Ikkei?”

“No _way_?”

“Mm,” Matsukawa hums, “for the November issue. Heard all the editors going crazy about it this morning.”

“Bastard,” Hanamaki sniffs, and Oikawa can’t help but agree. It’s been like this since the moment he stepped through the doors of the number one magazine in Tokyo. Back when he was a fresh faced graduate, eager to get started writing about the important issues in the world. That was nearly three years ago and his portfolio of ‘important issues’ is still worryingly thin.

(It’s damn near _empty_.)

“It’s favouritism,” Oikawa mutters, lifting his head up a little to scowl in the direction of their editor’s office, “plain and simple, _favouritism_. If you want a good story _he_ has to like you.”

“Well maybe _he_ would like you, if you showed a little respect and stopped antagonising him every chance you get.”

“I don’t _antagonise_ him, Mattsun,” Oikawa tuts, as if the very idea of _him_ antagonising anyone is simply too farfetched to even consider. “I just refuse to kiss his ass.”

“Are you implying that _we_ do kiss his ass?” Matsukawa asks, raising an eyebrow while Hanamaki pretends to look hurt.

“No, that’s what I’m saying. _We_ don’t kiss his ass, so we’re stuck doing the crappy jobs we used to do back when we were interns, while jerks like Tendou and Semi get all the good jobs.”

“Maybe they’re just better writers.”

Oikawa reaches for the stapler again.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Hanamaki says hurriedly, subtly ducking behind Matsukawa just in case Oikawa decides to follow through, “I know what you mean, but bringing stuff like _this_ ,” he gestures to Oikawa’s forgotten article, “into the planning meeting isn’t going to do you any favours.”

“You don’t _need_ to bring anything in,” Matsukawa adds, “it’s just for sharing any ideas you _might_ have. Emphasis on the _might_.”

“But he _always_ picks me,” Oikawa whines. “ _Always._ Even when I _clearly_ don’t have anything. It’s like he enjoys watching me squirm.”

“Because you crack so _wonderfully_ under pressure,” Hanamaki sniggers, “remember last month? When you started stam-” A yelp falls from his lips as Hanamaki barely manages to the dodge the stapler Oikawa chucks in his direction. “Maybe you don’t get any good stories because you’re a violent _ass_ ,” Hanamaki mutters, just quietly enough for Oikawa to feasibly pretend like he doesn’t hear.

“Whatever you do,” Matsukawa begins, sliding the half-written article across the desk back to Oikawa, “don’t give him _this_ garbage.”

“I’m so glad I decided to befriend you two _totally_ supportive assholes on my first day,” Oikawa grumbles, snatching the piece of paper away from them before they can tear into him some more.

“Us too. You make every day that little bit more interesting.”

Oikawa tunes them out (they start to list all weird things Oikawa has done since joining the company) and turns his attention to the muted television screen at the back of the office. Just once - _once_ \- he wishes the television could be tuned in to something _other_ than the news. He gets that they’re journalists and the news is supposed to be their lifeblood or something (or so his lecturer tried to instil into him on his first day at university) but, for the most part, the news is just _boring_.

Or depressing.

Or both.

He frowns a little as he watches the subtitles run across the screen. Some leader of a country somewhere has just been exposed for having sexual relations with a pig.

Scratch that. The news is either boring, depressing, or just plain _gross_.

The news reporters debate the reliability of the story for a few minutes before they cut to another story and Oikawa is pleasantly surprised to find it’s something that actually catches his attention and doesn’t fall into one of the three aforementioned categories.

He can’t help the soft little sigh that spills from his lips as he watches footage of Iwaizumi Hajime, the most sought after actor in Japan, wave politely to the press before slipping into a waiting car. A quick glance around the office shows he’s not the only one staring up at the television now either.

“ _Ah_ ,” Hanamaki hums loudly, distracting Oikawa from the television for a moment, “Iwaizumi-san’s back. He looks different.”

“Older? Wiser?” Matsukawa asks, glancing up at the screen.

“Hotter.” Hanamaki decides on after a few seconds of careful deliberation, and Oikawa doesn’t bother to try and muffle his own hum of approval.

“Definitely hotter,” he says, ignoring the way Matsukawa rolls his eyes at both him and Hanamaki, “don’t be jealous Mattsun.”

“What’s there to be jealous of?”

Oikawa ignores the question and instead leans forward on his desk, trying to put on his best ‘I’m totally serious right now’ expression, as he drops his chin to rest in the palm of his hands. “You know, you _kind_ of look like him.”

“ _What_.”

Hanamaki snorts loudly and Oikawa feels his lips twitch at the look of incredulity that spasms across Matsukawa’s face.

“I mean, in a bootleg ‘you’d be the guy to play him a straight to DVD film of his life’ kind of way.”

“Oikaw-”

“If you’d just let me thread those _monstrous_ eyebrows of yours, and then maybe get a hai-”

“Why don’t you focus on writing something that _won’t_ get you fired?” Matsukawa snaps, grabbing a pen from his desk and lobbing at Oikawa with enough force that it misses its target completely and wedges itself in the wall behind him. “And _you_ ,” he glances over at Hanamaki, who is currently trying (and failing) to smother his laughter with his tie, “don’t encourage him.”

Beside them, their colleagues cough pointedly and they all quickly hunch over the desks in an effort to pretend like they’d actually been doing some work all along.

(No one is convinced.)

Oikawa tries to scowl, but ends up biting the inside of his mouth nervously. He exhales a small breath through his nose as he glances down at the article from earlier. Annoyingly, he realises that Matsukawa is right. He _does_ need to focus on writing something that won’t result in him being embarrassed (yet again) in their meeting.

He swivels away from the television screen and brings up a blank document on his computer screen, determined to have _something_ to present by the time the meeting rolls around.

 

Two hours later when their editor, Ushijima Wakatoshi, saunters out from his office and calls them all towards the meeting room, Oikawa is no closer to having a decent story to show for his troubles and is about five seconds away from drowning himself in the numerous cups of stale coffee he has building up around his desk.

“Poor kid,” Hanamaki sighs as they traipse towards the meeting room, “it’s like watching a funeral march.”

“We are _the same age_.”

“Why is always the young ones that go first?” Matsukawa continues, ignoring Oikawa as if he hadn’t said anything, “he had his whole life ahead of him!”

“Once again - _same age_.”

Not for the first time since starting at the magazine (and he knows it’s _definitely_ won’t be the last), Oikawa curses his decision to sit down at _their_ desk on his first day. There were so many empty seats next to nice, _normal_ people, but nooo, he had to sit next to them.

He sends them both a pointed glare as they enter the meeting room. If he had his way, he’d sit far, _far_ , away from them both, but there are only a handful of seats left and he’d rather die a painful death than sit anywhere near Ushijima. So he reluctantly moves to the back of the room where there are three seats available, and tries to ignore Makki and Mattsun when they plop into the two next to him, still continuing their gag from earlier.

(“So young, so full of potential.”

“It’s going to be a shame to see him go.”

“It _will_ be a lot quieter though.”)

He needs new friends. Better friends. _Supportive_ friends.

For the first time in his life, Oikawa decides he’s _glad_ when Ushijima finally clears his throat and a hushed silence echoes around the room as everyone turns to pay attention to their editor. Ushijima isn’t good for much, but at least he can make Hanamaki and Matsukawa shut up.

He barely pays attention as Ushijima starts the meeting with a rundown of the sales figures for the past month and other things Oikawa knows he really should give a damn about, but he just _doesn’t_. He’ll read it all in the summary email later anyway.

He finds himself zoning out, staring at a random space on the wall as Ushijima drones on and on, and on, an-

“Oikawa-san?”

He jolts forwards slightly, blinking away some of his confusion. Everyone is staring at him expectantly while Hanamaki and Matsukawa snicker quietly behind their hands.

“Uh, sir?”

“Any ideas for the December issue?” Ushijima asks quietly, and Oikawa wonders just how long he’s been zoned out for them to already be at that point in the meeting without him noticing.

He tries his best to school his expression so the waves of venomous anger he can feel emanating from him don’t show on his face. Judging by the way Hanamaki and Matsukawa both silently groan, he’s failed, but Ushijima doesn’t seem to notice. He just stares at him, blinking patiently as he waits for an answer.

 _Bastard, bastard, bastard_ , Oikawa thinks as he stares at his editor. Ushijima has a really strange way of knowing when his staff come into meetings unprepared and he has an even stranger way of knowing when _Oikawa_ specifically comes into meetings unprepared. Whenever Oikawa has a story he thinks he’s at least semi proud of, Ushijima barely spares him a glance, but whenever he has nothing Ushijima homes in on him like a missile.

 _Bastard, bastard, bastard_.

“Oikawa-san?”

Matsukawa not-so-subtly kicks his leg and Oikawa realises he’s just spent the last twenty seconds or so glaring at his boss in silence. Feeling his cheeks warm a little, he clears his throat and glances down at the half-written article in his hands. The article both Matsukawa and Hanamaki already tore to shreds. He bites his lip and glances up at them. Hanamaki is shaking his head while Matsukawa silently mouths ‘ _don’t do it_ ’ over and over again.

(They’re not subtle about it at all and, once again, Oikawa mourns any chance of seeming like a professional among their colleagues.)

Was it really that bad of an article? He’s sure there are at least _some_ people who would be very interested in how fishing habits have changed over the last five decades.

Mainly fishermen, but _still_.

He turns his attention back towards Ushijima and is unsurprised, but still annoyed, to find he’s still staring at him as if they have all the time in the world and the room isn’t filled with other journalists all eager to pitch their ideas.

“Do you not have anything in mind Oikawa-san?” Ushijima asks in that monotonous tone that drives Oikawa _crazy_.

It would be so easy to just admit he doesn’t have anything worthy of publication. All he would have to do is endure a short moment of embarrassment and watch Ushijima give him that annoying little nod before he moves on to another journalist. It would be so, _so_ , easy.

“No. I mean _yes_ , I have something,” Oikawa spits out through gritted teeth, ignoring the way both Matsukawa and Hanamaki sigh dramatically before they slump forwards in their seats in defeat.

“Oh?” Ushijima sits up a little in his chair and Oikawa can’t help but feel a tiny bit satisfied when he sees the briefest hint of surprise flit across his editors face. “Please, continue.”

“Yes, well-” he hesitates, wondering if it’s not too late to dig himself out of the hole he’s gotten himself in. Ushijima raises a brow and Oikawa decides that yes, it is way too late to start frantically digging. He clears his throat again and tries to wrack his mind for something - _anything_ \- that won’t result in Ushijima and the rest of his colleagues laughing him out of the building. “I-I have an interview with-” he pauses again asking himself if he’s really going to do this.

“Yes?”

Oh, he hates Ushijima. So much. So, _so_ , much.

“I have an interview with Iwaizumi Hajime.” He says the words so quickly, he doesn’t even really have any time to think about the consequences of them. He just knows that he needs to say _something_ to get Ushijima off his back, and an article about fishing habits just wasn’t going to cut it.

The room goes silent. He can’t even hear anyone breathing. In his periphery he can see Hanamaki’s eyes widen while Matsukawa looks like he’s about one word away from falling out of his chair in shock.

“You- _You_ have an interview with Iwaizumi Hajime?” Ushijima says eventually unable from stopping his surprise marring his usually calm and collection features, “the Iwaizumi Hajime who has refused an interview request from this office a grand total of twelve times?”

“That’s right,” Oikawa says smugly, sitting straighter in his seat, “ _I_ have an interview with him.”

“ _How_?”

Oikawa wonders if he should maybe be a little offended at the blatant disbelief in Ushijima’s tone. “Ah,” he taps his nose secretively, “I can’t reveal my sources.” Mainly because he doesn’t _have_ any sources - not yet anyway.

“This is- This is...”

Oikawa leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his chest as he grins over at Ushijima. He doesn’t stop to think about the fact that he’s just dug himself an even bigger hole than the one from before and instead relishes in the reality that, for the first time in his career, he’s managed to render his stupid editor speechless. He half-heartedly considers taking out his phone and snapping a picture so he can immortalise this moment forever.

Fuck the Pulitzer Prize. If he can get a framed photo of Ushijima Wakatoshi gaping at him like a fish, Oikawa knows he’ll never complain about his job again.

“Well done Oikawa-san,” Ushijima says eventually, and Oikawa wonders if he’s imagining the little _twitch_ just above his left eyebrow. “That’ll make a great cover, especially over the festive period. When are you interviewing him?”

“I- What?”

“The date?” Ushijima frowns, “do you have a date for your interview?”

“Oh. I still have to work out a few last minute details.” _Like actually securing an interview in the first place_ , he thinks. But Ushijima doesn’t need to know that.

“There’s still a few months till we go to print, so there’s no rush. Keep me in the loop.”

Oikawa nods and tries not to worry too much over the fact that there is one tiny inconsequential problem with all of this.

He doesn’t _have_ an interview Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

“Keep away from us.”

“Far, far, away.”

“ _Makki_. _Mattsun_.”

“Noo,” Hanamaki presses his fingers together in the shape of a cross and brandishes them in front of Oikawa’s face, as if he were a vampire. “Keep _away_. I don’t want your stupidity rubbing off on us.”

Oikawa ignores them both as he pulls his chair back and slides into it. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re a fucking idiot.”

“ _Language_ Matts-”

“What the _hell_ , Oikawa?”

Oikawa blinks up at them both, because this isn’t their usual shtick reserved for whenever he does something unorthodox. They’re not laughing or rolling their eyes or shaking their heads or acting at _all_ how they act on the, totally rare, occasions he does mess up.

“What…?” he asks nervously, wondering if he should be feeling a little more worried. Why do they both look so serious? Why does Hanamaki look like someone’s just _died_?

The two share a glance and Oikawa wonders if perhaps they can read each-others minds because they don’t say _anything_ , but apparently still manage to come to an understanding. Matsukawa takes a deep breath and leans forwards without any trace of humour or sarcasm, or anything like Oikawa’s come to expect over the last two years, in his eyes. “This is pretty bad.”

“It’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Hanamaki chimes in, “I’d liken it to a train wreck but this is going to be worse.”

“Much worse.”

“...You guys are scaring me now.”

“ _Good_. It’s about time someone scared some sense into you,” Hanamaki sighs. It’s back again, that look in his eye that Oikawa would expect to see on someone attending a funeral.

“ _What_?”

Matsukawa bites his lip before peering around the office. Several people are staring at them, which isn’t all that surprising because they _do_ make quite a lot of noise and _someone_ is usually staring (glaring) at them because of it. He shuffles closer to Oikawa’s desk and gestures for Oikawa to lean forwards as well. “Oikawa. Iwaizumi-san hasn’t done an interview in _years_.”

“I don’t think he’s _ever_ done one,” Hanamaki adds, frowning a little as he tries to think back. “Not a _real_ one anyway. He does the odd thirty second red carpet interview every now and then but...aside from that?” Hanamaki shrugs and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? _Oh_?”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Oh...that sucks?”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa exchange another look and Oikawa gets the feeling they’re doing their weird might-not-be-telepathy-but-also- _might_ -be-telepathy thing again because they don’t say anything for a few seconds before they glance away, both nodding like they’ve had a deep conversation.

“Oikawa,” Matsukawa says slowly, as if he’s worried if he speaks any faster Oikawa might not understand, “you have just told our _editor_ that you can get him an interview with Iwaizumi Hajime, a man who hasn’t done an interview _once_ in the entirety of his ten year career.”

“And he is going to fire you when he finds out.”

“He might even kill you.”

“That’d be asking for too much.”

“You’re right. Don’t want to push our luck.”

“I’m honestly truly offended right now,” Oikawa sniffs, pretend dabbing at non-existent tears streaming down his face, “I thought we were _friends_ -”

“We’re _colleagues_.”

“At best.”

“I thought we were _friends_ ,” Oikawa continues, a little louder this time, “and yet you have absolutely _zero_ faith in my skills as a journalist.”

Hanamaki raises a brow. “Are you saying you _do_ have an interview with Iwaizumi Hajime lined up, and you’ve just conveniently forgotten to mention it until now?”

“Well. No, not ex-”

“ _When_ Ushijima fires you,” Hanamaki cuts across him, putting a particular emphasis on the first word of his sentence, “I’m going to film it and put it on YouTube.”

“Once again,” Oikawa says, “I’m offended you guys don’t have any faith in me.”

“It’s not that we don’t have faith in you as a journalist,” Matsukawa begins as Hanamaki coughs something that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _I_ don’t’. “It’s just Iwaizumi _doesn’t do_ interviews. Ever.”

“ _Ever_.” Hanamaki echoes, just in case Oikawa hadn’t heard.

“Ah, but you’re forgetting one _extremely_ important detail, my friends.”

“Colleagues."

"And what's that?”

Oikawa gestures for them to lean closer and, for some bizarre reason, they do.

“You’re forgetting that Iwaizumi-san hasn’t met _me_ before. And who could say no to a smile like this?” He smiles brightly and gives them both such an earnest thumbs up sign, that Matsukawa doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the list of people who would _happily_ say no to smile like his is probably several miles long, and Iwaizumi Hajime is  _probably_ right at the top of that list.

(Hanamaki _does_ have the heart to tell him, but Matsukawa steps on his foot underneath the table when he sees him open his mouth.)

Ten minutes later, when Oikawa goes to grab another cup of coffee Hanamaki and Matsukawa take bets on how long it’ll take him to realise this is a lost cause and beg for their help.

“I give him a week," Matsukawa says thoughtfully, "a week and a half at most."

Hanamaki snorts, raising a brow as he glances over to where Oikawa is kicking the coffee machine for stealing his change. "You're too generous."

"Oh? How long do you think he'll last?" 

Oikawa kicks the coffee machine again and jumps backwards, yelping slightly, as it suddenly squirts a stream of hot water out of it.

"Two days. I give him two days."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i would 10/10 recommend you do the buzzfeed ['what is your inner potato'](http://www.buzzfeed.com/kimberlywang/what-is-your-inner-potato#.ltAYr5PGmy) quiz (i got mashed potatoes)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> consider: kuroo and bokuto as world famous actors....consider

They both lose the bet.

Much to Hanamaki’s annoyance, Oikawa breezes past his two day estimate without so much as even breaking a sweat. Matsukawa gloats about it for the next four days but, to Hanamaki’s delight, even his victory is short lived when the full week ticks by (and even the half a week extra Matsukawa had given him) without Oikawa looking anywhere _close_ to the nail-biting, emotional wreck they’d expected him to become by now.

“Maybe he _does_ have this all under control,” Hanamaki murmurs on the 9th day. Oikawa is sitting at his desk looking remarkably unbothered by the daunting task resting on his shoulders as he hums away to a jingle he’d heard earlier on the radio.

“Yeah,” Matsukawa chimes in, frowning a little as Oikawa cheerfully types something with a dramatic flourish. “Maybe we should’ve had more faith in him from the beginning?”

They shouldn't.

Because Oikawa _does_ finally crack.

(Of course.)

 

Oikawa doesn’t regret much. He typically adheres to the “everything happens for a reason, so just embrace it” school of thought. And, for the most part, that line of thinking has served him pretty well in his life.

Except now.

Now he’s beginning to wonder if perhaps, just _maybe_ , he’s made a terrible, terrible, mistake. Maybe his biggest mistake _ever_. Which is saying a lot considering some of the situations he’s managed to get himself into over the years.

But this? This is definitely right up there with some of his worst decisions.

He doesn’t bother to try and stifle the almost pained whimper that spills from his lips as he reads the message that has just dropped into his inbox.

“Oikawa?”

“Hngh.”

He knows he’s not making any sense and that Hanamaki and Matsukawa are probably both exchanging yet another Look between themselves, but he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he blinks a few times and even goes so far as to actually _rub_ his eyes in disbelief because he really, _really_ , doesn’t want to believe the words flashing across his screen.

> _Dear Oikawa-san,_
> 
> _Thank you for your interest in my client. And thank you for your many,_ many _, emails. They were...entertaining, to say to the least._
> 
> _I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you._
> 
> _Unfortunately, Iwaizumi-san is currently not doing any interviews with the press at this point in time. When, and if, this changes I assure you, you will be the first to know._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Sugawara Koshi_

He reads the email once, twice, three times and then one final fourth time, practically _willing_ the words to rearrange themselves on the screen into something more positive. Something that _won’t_ end up getting him fired.

“Regards.” He mutters under his breath, scowling at the screen when the words don’t adhere to his willpower. “ _Re-fucking-gards_.” How the hell Sugawara manages to be so polite when he’s effectively just ruined Oikawa’s career in one hastily written email is beyond him.

“Oikawa?”

In his periphery he can see both Matsukawa and Hanamaki dropping any pretense of actually doing any work, in favour of leaning forwards at their desks to frown at him.

“I’m fine,” he manages to croak out, clicking away from the email as he fights the urge to delete it and pretend like it never happened.

The way he sees it, he has three options.

Option one: Get up from his desk, march into Ushijima’s office and tell him he lied, that there never _was_ an interview in the first place and pray to whoever’s up there that Ushijima is feeling particularly kind today. In the half a second it takes him to come up with the first option, he shoots it down. There are many things Oikawa would rather do than admit to Ushijima that he’d fucked up this royally. Like shooting himself in the foot with a bow and arrow for example.

He moves on swiftly to option two: _Lying_ to Ushijima. Or, lying some _more_ to Ushijima. This one, he has to admit, is a pretty tempting option. He knows it would be ridiculously easy to prance into Ushijima’s office and just tell him that Iwaizumi had to cancel their interview for some reason or another. He figures that it's not entirely implausible, especially when you consider how busy Iwaizumi’s schedule must be. But he _is_ a little wary of covering his (already pretty huge) lie with another lie. All it would take would be one misstep or slip of the tongue and everything would come crashing down around him and he’d have to tell Ushijima the truth - which would inevitably bring him right back to option one again and he absolutely _refuses_ to do option one.

So, option number three it is.

He sighs lightly, tapping his fingers against his desk as he tries to figure out exactly _what_ option three is. He glances up and isn’t surprised to find Matsukawa and Hanamaki still staring at him with furrowed brows and he realises just what option three entails. He sighs again, a little louder this time, and weighs up his choices.

Tell Ushijima the truth or ask them for help?

Ushijima? Them?

Risk being fired? Risk being mocked for the rest of his working life - and possibly in the afterlife as well, knowing just how dedicated Hanamaki is to the art of mocking him at every possible opportunity.

Both of them are equally undesirable options but he supposes that asking Matsukawa and Hanamaki for their help is marginally, better than having to swallow his pride and admit to Ushijima that he’d been lying all along.

And only _just_ marginally, mind you.

He bites the inside of his cheek as he sits upright and meets their gazes. “My dear friends,” he begins, admittedly a little dramatically, “I am in need of...your assistance.” 

He winces a little, watching as both of their mouths split into identical shit eating grins. They are never - _never_ \- going to let him live this down. It'll be ranked up there with that awful weekend holiday to Kobe in the book of 'Embarrassing Oikawa Related Events' they both seem bent on writing.

“And _what_ do you need our help with?” Hanamaki asks, fluttering his eyelashes almost coyly up at him.

Oikawa isn’t fooled. “You know what.”

“Yeah,” Hanamaki hums, “but I want to hear _you_ say it.”

“Humour us,” Matsukawa adds, with an equally smug smile. Absentmindedly, Oikawa wonders how long they'd been waiting for this conversation to occur. He knows there's probably a bet involved as well (there's _always_ a bet involved for some reason), and he wonders who won.

“You're both dicks.”

“That's not the kind of language you should be using on the two people who could save your stupid ass,” Matsukawa hums, pretending be thoroughly interested in examining his nails, “ _but_ , if you'd rather us _not_ help you, then that's fi-”

“I couldn't get an interview with Iwaizumi,” Oikawa says hurriedly, before Matsukawa can finish his sentence. “Yet,” he adds, “I couldn't get an interview _yet_.”

“Look at him,” Hanamaki sighs dramatically, “‘yet’ he says, as if there's any hope.”

“It’s almost cute,” Matsukawa says thoughtfully, as if they were doing something as asinine as discussing the weather, “in a ‘his career is going to be destroyed’ kind of way.”

“Dicks. Dicks. _Dicks_.” Oikawa snaps, aiming a kick at both of them under their desk.

(He misses, and stubs his toe.)

“ _Language_ Oikawa,” Matsukawa tuts, “this is a place of work.”

“Yeah. Nobody wants to know what you do in your spare time.”

“ _Who_ he does.”

Oikawa wonders if doing option one would _really_ be that bad. Sure, he'd have to swallow his pride but at least he wouldn't have to deal with _this_.

“Ah. He's considering whether he should just tell Ushijima the truth.”

“He _should_ ,” Hanamaki says, as if that were obvious, “it would save all of us a lot of trouble.”

“ _He_ is still sitting right in front of you,” Oikawa grumbles, “are you going to help me or should I start writing my resignation letter.”

“You don't need a resignation letter when you get fir-”

“We'll help you,” Matsukawa cuts across Hanamaki with a pointed look, “if only to get you to stop making those weird noises whenever you check your emails.”

“Yeah. You sound like a dying cat.”

Oikawa wants to argue because most certainly does _not_ sound like a dying cat - _ever_ \- but he is also very aware of Sugawara's email, still right at the top of his inbox, reminding him of the horrible mess he's gotten himself into.

"Can you help me or not?"

They exchange another Look (Oikawa really needs to have a talk with them about that because it's just getting _weird_ ) before they both exhale deep breaths and turn to face him again.

"Only because we don't want to see you to get fired."

"I do."

"Only because _I_ don't want to see you get fired," Matsukawa corrects himself, rolling his eyes a little at Hanamaki. "We'll help."

* * *

He’s ten years into his career - a career that doesn’t _really_ show any signs of slowing down any time soon - and he’s still having difficulty wrapping his head around the whole ‘fame’ thing. Even just saying the word, or any variation of it, doesn’t sit right with him.

He supposes that over the last few years he should have, at _some_ point, learnt to get used to the whole being famous thing, but he hasn’t. In his mind, he’s still the same lanky, awkward, 15-year-old who seemed to more or less stumble accidentally onto the set of the film that would ultimately catapult him into stardom and keep him there for a decade.

Iwaizumi sighs as he gingerly pulls back the thick curtain and peeks through the slit. There’s a crowd gathering outside. It’s still relatively small, but he knows from experience that that will change before he even has the chance to blink.

“I thought this was supposed to be a secret location,” he murmurs, tugging the curtain back in place before he turns to frown at his agent.

Sugawara shrugs, glancing up from the contract on his lap to shoot him a sheepish ‘please don’t be mad’ smile. “It _was_.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the emphasis on the word ‘was’ and, for some reason, he gets the impression he isn’t going to like what he hears next.

“What happened?”

“ _Well_ …” Suga trails off and instead nods his head towards another corner of the room they’re all holed up in.

Iwaizumi follows his gaze and decides that he isn’t entirely surprised when he realises Suga is nodding towards Bokuto and Kuroo who are both stood hunched over the large table, skimming through _their_ contracts with their agents.

“Ah.”

“I’m sorry Iwaizumi,” Suga sighs, though he can’t _quite_ stop the soft smile from tugging at his lips. “One of them took a selfie or something and posted it and,” he shrugs and gestures to the window, “that’s the result.”

Iwaizumi hums, his lips pulling into a tight line as he moves back to the window and jerks the curtain open slightly. The crowd has multiplied by at _least_ five and he groans.

He likes both Bokuto and Kuroo a lot, he _really_ does.

They can get a little abrasive sometimes and, over the years, Iwaizumi has had to learn (through trial and error) just how much of them he can handle at any given moment before he begins seriously contemplating pulling his hair out, but he _does_ like them. They’re good actors and, for some reason, Kuroo pretty much manages to somehow guarantee a box office hit for any movie he’s in (even the ones that flat out _suck_ ), and they’re both easy to work with. Friendly, cooperative, and not at _all_ like the diva’s the tabloid magazines had made them both out to be.

On the whole, they’re both really nice guys. But-

“Woah.”

Iwaizumi jolts slightly as he feels something press against his back. He glances back to find Bokuto leaning against his shoulders to peek out from behind the curtain. “I thought this was supposed to be a secret location?”

“It _was_ ,” Iwaizumi says pointedly, ignoring the way Suga chuckles lightly and shakes his head, “but _one of you_ posted a selfie with the building in the background and…” He trails off and gestures to the crowd below them.

“Oh.” Bokuto hums, not sounding even remotely bothered by the ever growing mob of fans currently waiting for them outside the hotel. “My bad.”

Iwaizumi feels his brow _twitch_.

He likes Bokuto. He likes Kuroo. He _genuinely_ does, but a fair amount of time has passed since he last worked with either actor and he’s annoyed to admit that he’d forgotten just how... _enthusiastic_ both of their fans could get.

It unnerves him a little.

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate his own fans, because he does, but he’s never been able to embrace that particular aspect of stardom the way Bokuto and Kuroo (who has now been called over to the window by Bokuto) do. Even calling people his ‘fans’ sounds strange to him, as if that’s not something he’s earned the right to do yet.

Shaking his head a little at them (they’re both grinning and now competing over who has the most fans waiting outside), Iwaizumi moves away from the window to lean against the wall next to Suga.

"Tired of people watching?" Suga hums, barely looking up from the contract he's currently combing through.

"Something like that," Iwaizumi murmurs, leaning back against the wall to observe the room. It feels so _strange_ to be back in this kind of setting. He's spent the last six months filming abroad in a country where nobody knew his name. Where he could run to the supermarket and not have to worry about getting noticed and followed for twenty minutes before he inevitably caves in and spends the _next_ twenty minutes signing autographs. It was nice, he thinks, being able to have that kind of anonymity again, the kind of anonymity he hasn't had back home in Japan for almost ten years now.

Not that he begrudges his fame, because he _doesn't,_ not even a little bit, it was just... _nice_.

"You know, my job would be a lot easier if you'd just agree to do a _little_ promotion for the film," Suga sighs, cracking his knuckles as he sits upright, "having to negotiate a specific contract for you each time is hard work."

"Isn't that what I pay you for?" Iwaizumi asks, raising a brow as he pulls the contract towards him. It's printed in tiny letters and weighs as much as a decently sized book and, not for the first time, Iwaizumi decides he is very, _very_ , grateful for Sugawara Koshi.

"You should read through that when you have the time," Suga says offhandedly, noticing the way Iwaizumi has begun to thumb through the thick contract in his hands, "it's pretty standard. This'll be good one for you."

Iwaizumi nods. He's actually _pretty_ excited to get started on this film. The script is exciting and puts him in a more action based role than the plethora of romantic leads he'd been playing over the last few months and he's not going to deny that he's more than a little excited to be working with Bokuto and Kuroo again. Inexplicable ability to continuously draw large crowds wherever they are aside, he enjoys working with the two of them. They have a strange ability to bring out the best in the rest of their cast mates.

“And you’re _sure_ I can’t tempt you into doing just one interview?” Suga asks, his voice laced with faux innocence, “because I’ve got one _very_ determined reporter blowing up my emails.”

“Suga-”

“Seriously, just _look_ ,” Suga brandishes his phone in front of Iwaizumi’s face, “there’s _fifteen_ emails from him. And they’re just from today. I’ve never met anyone so determined in my _life_.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh a little as he quickly scans the emails in Suga’s inbox, each of them apparently increasing in urgency:

> **SUBJECT: Interview with Iwaizumi Hajime**
> 
> **SUBJECT: RE: Interview with Iwaizumi Hajime**
> 
> **SUBJECT: RE: RE: INTERVIEW WITH IWAIZUMI HAJIME**
> 
> **SUBJECT: HELLO? I’M TRYING TO ORGANISE AN INTERVIEW WITH IWAIZUMI HAJIME**
> 
> **SUBJECT: OPEN THIS. READ THIS. PLEASE!!**

And the final one doesn’t even _have_ a subject title, but from the preview off the message Iwaizumi gets the feeling it probably contains a whole lot of begging and maybe even a thinly veiled threat or two.

“Sounds desperate.”

“ _Everyone_ is desperate for an interview with you,” Suga sighs, his brows furrowing slightly. “I know you don’t like doing them but,” he shrugs, “one every now and then isn’t going to kill you.”

“How many times have we had this discussion?”

“Forty-four.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow.

“Yes, I count,” Suga sniffs, “I like you to know just how unreasonable you’re being.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think it’s all that unreasonable not to want to bear your soul to a random stranger for an hour, only for them to twist your words and turn you into Japan’s Most Hated with one poorly worded article.

He still has difficulty wrapping his head around the whole ‘I’m famous’ thing, but, overall, he likes to think he’s developed a nice balance between his public persona and his private life. He actually takes pride in the fact that so little is _actually_ known about his life beyond the big screen, and he wants to keep it that way for as long as possible.

And if that means no interviews, then so be it.

* * *

He doesn’t expect the screaming fans which, in hindsight, was incredibly naive of him.

“Don’t they have _school_?” Oikawa mumbles, sidestepping a teenage looking girl holding a large poster of Kuroo Tetsuro adorned with lots of glittery hearts. Irritatingly, she’s not the only one with a poster. He estimates there are about 50 or so of them, all huddled outside the _supposedly_ secret hotel location, and most of them are holding something. Whether it be a poster or a banner or, in a couple of cases, cardboard cutouts of one of the actors currently holed up inside the building.

The majority have Kuroo’s grinning face plastered on them but there are healthy amount of Bokuto’s sprinkled around and he even spots an Iwaizumi dotted here and there among the crowd.

“Don’t be jealous,” Hanamaki mutters as they push their way through the crowd to get to the barriers at the front. “Just because they’re not paying any attention to _you_.”

“God, can you imagine?” Matsukawa laughs, allowing a look of faux horror to flit across his face, “Oikawa as an actor? His ego wouldn’t be able to take it.”

"Ha. Ha," Oikawa deadpans, glaring at both of them before he turns his attention back to the hotel. "You're sure he's in there?"

" _Yes_ ," Hanamaki sniffs, as if he's personally offended that Oikawa even had to ask. "I have a _reliable_ source that says Kuroo's signing a contract to join a new film today, and that Iwaizumi's signing it as well."

Oikawa nods, biting his lip at little as he scans the crowd around them. He doesn't want to admit it (though he probably _should_ ) but he owes a lot of Hanamaki and Matsukawa right now. Despite their insufferable teasing, they were both actually pretty helpful in the end. It took a while of combing through Hanamaki's little black book of celebrity sources (some reliable...others painfully _not_ ), but eventually they managed to find _someone_ who appeared to be at least somewhat legit. Oikawa decides that when this is over and he has his interview with Iwaizumi that he can rub in Ushijima's face, he'll have to do something to say thank you to them both.

"Because _I'm_ actually good at my job," Hanamaki finishes, sending a smug and pointed look Oikawa's way.

Oikawa immediately erases any positive thoughts he may have held towards the man (he _does_ stick his middle finger up at him though, blushing slightly when the small child next to them gasps) and turns his attention back to the entrance of the hotel.

His plan is simple.

(If not a _little_ ambitious, as Matsukawa had so _helpfully_ said at least five times on the drive to the hotel.)

Go up to Iwaizumi, introduce himself, smile, flutter his eyelashes and _beg him for an interview._

See. _Simple_.

He figures that while Sugawara (annoyingly) had no problem denying his request via email, most people find it a little more difficult to say _no_ in person. All he needs is ten seconds with the actor. Ten seconds to work his Oikawa-charm and he’ll never have to worry about Ushijima finding out about this whole mess.

“Ah.” Matsukawa bumps his gently with his shoulder, nodding towards the end of the road. “They’ll be coming out soon.”

Three fairly nondescript black cars stop just shy of the crowd huddled by the entrance of the hotel, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they’re for.

“Remember, be polite, smile and _try_ not to be so...you-like,” Matsukawa says, eyeing Oikawa warily.

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Oikawa sniffs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Are you trying to imply that I’m not likeable?”

“ _W_ _ell..._ ”

“You know Makki,” Oikawa says loftily, draping one arm over Hanamaki’s shoulders to pull him into an awkward hug. “That’d be a hell of a lot more believable if you hadn’t just ditched work to help me.”

“I’m _not_ here to help you,” Hanamaki insists, shrugging himself out of Oikawa’s grasp, “I’m here to watch the trainwreck.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Hanamaki opens up his mouth to retort, but Oikawa doesn’t get the chance to find out what he plans to say (though he thinks that probably a good thing), because the doors to the hotel are suddenly pushed open and an awed hush washes over the crowd.

Even he can’t help but hold his breath slightly as the doors swing open and _they_ exit.

Bokuto comes out first, with no hesitation, as he practically skips down the steps waving to the crowd who are slowly coming back to life. Oikawa suddenly finds himself having to dodge cardboard cutouts and posters being waved frantically in the air as Bokuto’s fans try and get his attention.

Kuroo’s next and Oikawa finds himself wishing he’d had the foresight to bring earplugs, because the noise that erupts from the crowd as Kuroo’s lips curve upwards into a small smile when he offers them a wave is almost _deafening_.

Belatedly, Oikawa realises that this is a very strange situation for him to be in; a grown man stood among a sea of fifteen year olds, waiting for a bunch of celebrities to exit their hotel. He's about halfway through wondering if maybe they should step to the side just in case there are any cameras around or, even worse, anyone they know, when the entrance doors are pushed open again and Oikawa feels his breath hitch in his throat.

He's spent the last ten or so years watching Iwaizumi Hajime essentially grow up on the big screen. _Everyone_ has. He remembers his first movie, a cheesy coming of age film about a boy joining a volleyball team, remembers his last movie, an _equally_ cheesy rom-com about him and his love interest trying (and failing) to make a long distance relationship work, and remembers every movie in between. The point is, he knows what Iwaizumi looks like as well as he knows himself. Iwaizumi is handsome, _everyone_ knows that. But, Oikawa thinks as he watches him quickly make his way down the stairs, the camera has done Iwaizumi Hajime absolutely _no_ justice.

" _God_ ," he hears Hanamaki whistle as Iwaizumi comes to a halt beside the crowd, beginning to sign autographs and shake hands, "was he always that..."

" _No_ ," Oikawa croaks, eyes widening slightly as he watches the way Iwaizumi's lips pull into an easy grin as he crouches down to allow for one his fans to take a photograph. He watches, as if he's been hypnotised, while Iwaizumi quickly makes his way along the crowd, stopping and smiling and signing autographs and even hugging a fan or two.

He doesn't even realise Iwaizumi's in front of him until Hanamaki coughs loudly and Matsukawa stabs him in the back with the pointy end of his car keys.

(He’s going to kill him later.)

Iwaizumi’s smile is soft and warm and Oikawa feels his cheeks redden slightly as he meets his gaze, trying to surreptitiously rub the sore spot on his back.

“Hello.”

Oh- _oh_ , his voice is even deeper than it sounds in his movies.

“ _Hi_ ,” Oikawa manages to say, ignoring the way his voice seems to break just a little.

“What can I do for you?”

 _Me_ , Oikawa thinks before he comes to his senses. "Oh. Yeah.” He fumbles around in his pocket and grabs an old receipt from inside. It's crumpled and torn in places, but if it'll keep Iwaizumi standing in front of him for longer, he doesn't care. "Here."

Iwaizumi raises a brow, but otherwise doesn't say anything as he tugs the torn receipt from his hands and quickly begins scrawling over it. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru.”

Iwaizumi repeats his name slowly as he flattens the receipt out as best he can and hurriedly scrawls over it. “Nice name.”

Oikawa wonders if this is the kind of thing he says to _all_ his fans or not, but he finds that he doesn’t really care - even though it probably is. He just knows that when he dies, he wants ‘Iwaizumi Hajime once complimented my name’ on his gravestone.

He feels another sharp jab in the back with something that feels suspiciously like Matsukawa’s car keys and he realises that he’s been staring unabashedly at Iwaizumi in silence for the last few seconds.

“Right. Uh,” he clears his throat, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Iwaizumi looks up and meets his gaze head on.

 _Shit_. He has really, _really_ , nice eyes.

“Shoot.”

"I'm a journalist. A reporter fo-"

His smile drops from his face for a fraction of a second before it’s back up again, though this time without any of the warmth from before and Oikawa is suddenly reminded that Iwaizumi is a _frighteningly_ good actor. "I’m not doing interviews right now."

"So I've heard," Oikawa scowls, before he remembers he's meant to hitting him with the ol' Oikawa-charm. He clears his throat and allows his best smile (the one that gets him more numbers than Hanamaki and Matsukawa combined when they go out together) to cloud his features. He thinks he probably even flutters his eyelashes at him once or twice. "I know you don't do interviews, _Iwaizumi-san_ , but I was thinkin-"

"Sorry."

Oikawa blinks as Iwaizumi hands him back the receipt.

“I’m not doing interviews right now, but if you contact my agent, I’m sure he’ll let you know if that changes.”

“I _have_ contacted your agent,” Oikawa mutters, brows furrowing as he remembers his correspondence with Sugawara.

“Then I’m sure he’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Bu-”

Iwaizumi takes a step backwards and offers him a brisk wave, and another curt smile. “Sorry.” And then he disappears, shuffling further along down the crowd, his warm smile back in place as he dutifully poses for a photograph with a group of screaming fans.

Oikawa stares after him, trying to figure out what the _hell_ just happened because that was _definitely_ not how things were supposed to go.

"Well," Matsukawa says diplomatically after what feels like an eternity of silence, "think of the positives."

"What positives?" Oikawa croaks out, staring at Matsukawa in disbelief because this is, quite possibly, the worst thing that could have happened. Oh _God_ , he’s going to have to go through with option one. He’s going to have to _tell Ushijima_ how badly he fucked up. "What positives?"

"I-" Matsukawa frowns and turns to Hanamaki, shooting him a look that so clearly says 'help me'.

"You got his autograph," Hanamaki says cheerfully, draping an arm over Oikawa's other shoulder and squeezing tightly.

"How is _that_ a positive?"

"Well. I suppose. Hm. I guess you could sell it on eBay," Hanamaki hums, looking as if he’s actually considering that to be a viable option, "and use the money you make for rent."

"For rent?"

"Mhm. For when you get fired."

Oikawa doesn’t even have it in him to kick Hanamaki and shrug him off of him because, for once, he’s worried that he _might_ actually be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: introducing oikawa ~master of disguise~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa is a master of disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, life has been ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ lately but things are better now so hopefully updates will be regular again!!!!

Oikawa Tooru is a man of many, _many_ , talents.

He’s a pretty damn good journalist (and, if his boss would just give him the chance to prove himself, he would see that too), a pretty decent singer, a good friend (no matter how much Hanamaki tries to deny it), and one _hell_ of a kisser.

But, there is one thing that Oikawa Tooru is not.

And that’s a quitter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Matsukawa asks, not bothering to even _attempt_ to hide his confusion as he stares warily (and wearily) at Oikawa. It’s nearing midnight and dealing with whatever Oikawa related mess is going on right now is not high up on his list of priorities, not when he has three stories he still needs to finish up before they go to press in the morning.

Beside him, Hanamaki scoots closer in his chair. “Mattsun, pass me your phone. I need to film this.”

Matsukawa wordlessly tosses Hanamaki his phone, weary gaze still fixated on Oikawa. They’ve been working together for a few years now and he _liked_ to think he was used to all of his little idiosyncrasies. In an ideal world, Matsukawa liked to believe there was nothing Oikawa could do that would surprise him anymore.

But this isn’t an ideal world.

Sadly.

“It’s called a _disguise_ ,” Oikawa says sagely, gesturing to his face with a flourish.

Matsukawa promptly drops his face into the palm of his hands and looks away. He can sense Hanamaki staring at him, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. It’s too late for this kind of nonsense. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good person. Isn’t he?

“A _foolproof_ disguise,” Oikawa adds with a little nod, as if _that_ clears everything up.

“A— A disguise?” Hanamaki says slowly, as if he’s trying to wrap his head around whatever the hell is going on in front of them.

“Exactly!”

“A _foolproof_ disguise?”

“Are you a parrot, Makki?”

“No, no,” Hanamaki shrugs and raises his hands into the air, palms showing. “I just want to make sure I know _exactly_ what to say in court.”

Oikawa frowns. “In...court?”

“When you get arrested for stalking,” Hanamaki says in a tone of voice that leaves no room for arguing, and Matsukawa can’t help but nod in agreement, suddenly having visions of having to visit Oikawa in a cell. “I want to get my testimony _just_ right. Let the judge know I had no part in this.”

“You guys are the _worst_ ,” Oikawa sniffs, adjusting his ‘disguise’. “Have I ever told you that before ? _No,_ actually, on second thought, don’t answer that. Just— Just tell me what you think?” He gestures towards his ‘disguise’ again and stares expectantly at them both.

“You literally just put on a pair of glasses,” Matsukawa says slowly, while Oikawa beams over at them from across the desk, as if he’s just discovered the secret to world peace. Despite the ridiculousness of it all, Matsukawa has to admit that glasses _do_ look good on him. They’re a terrible disguise, yes, but at least he looks good doing it.

“Exactly,” Oikawa says, nodding again, “Iwaizumi isn’t going to expect someone as attractive as _moi_ to be wearing something as gaudy and as hideous as _these_.” He gestures to the fairly plain, nondescript, and totally _not_ hideous, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, before he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back into his seat, grinning at them both smugly. “I look like a completely different person.”

Matsukawa wisely resist the urge to glance over at Hanamaki, knowing that if he does, his resolve will crack and it’s entirely likely the tiny potted cactus sitting at the edge of his desk will find itself hurtling across the small space between them, with Oikawa as the intended target.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, presses his fingertips together and leans them against the bridge of his nose. Then, for good measure, he takes another deep breath. “Oikawa. I thought we agreed the interview with Iwaizumi _isn’t_ going to happen, and that you should just cut your losses and come clean.”

“No,” Oikawa says firmly, grin dropping from his face. “You two agreed that. _I_ did no such thing, because _I’m_ not a quitter.”

It’s been four days since the mess at the hotel and Oikawa isn’t too proud to admit that, at first, his failure to get an interview Iwaizumi _had_ put a bit of a dampener on his spirit. Not enough to douse it completely of course, but the thought of walking into Ushijima’s office and explaining everything to happen had kept him up at night and he’d spent the next day sitting at his desk, biting his nails, and ducking behind his computer screen every time Ushijima so much as _glanced_ in his direction.

But that was four days ago and he’s moved on since then because he is _Oikawa Tooru_ , and Oikawa Tooru doesn’t give up.

Ever.

Even when faced with annoying celebrities who think they’re too good to do an interview with _the_ best selling magazine in Tokyo. Seriously, who _does_ that?

Anyway, he decides the (minor) embarrassment at the hotel can be chalked up to inexperience and _honestly_ , he’d been a bit naive to assume he’d get an interview right of the bat anyway.

A man as stubborn as Iwaizumi Hajime would take more than simply turning up on a whim to crack. It would take _cunning_. And, if there’s one thing Oikawa excels at, it’s being cunning. Even if he’s the only person who thinks so.

“Let’s, for one second suspend belief, and pretend like your disguise _actually_ works—”

“It _does_ ,” Oikawa sniffs, adjusting his glasses slightly as he catches his reflection in his computer screen. In his humble, and totally correct, opinion, he looks _completely_ different. Almost unrecognisable. Maybe he’ll part his hair a little differently as well and go the whole mile.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes and continues on, pretending like he hasn’t just heard Oikawa’s interruption. “So your disguise _miraculously_ works and he _somehow_ doesn’t recognise you as that annoying journalist from a few days ago. Then what?”

“Oh, Makki,” Oikawa chuckles, leaning forwards to perch on his desk, chin propped up with one hand. “Poor, naive, simple, Makki.”

Makki’s fingers twitch towards the cactus and Matsukawa puts a hand on his thigh. _Not today_.

“Answer the question, Oikawa,” Matsukawa grumbles, already knowing he’s not going to want to hear the answer. “How _do_ you plan to get your interview?”

Oikawa tips the glasses further down his nose, dips his head, flutters his eyelashes, and says, “I’m going to woo him, of course.”

 _Of course_ , Matsukawa thinks, of _fucking_ course.

 

* * *

 

They’re supposed to be bonding. Reading through the script in a more intimate and relaxed setting in an attempt to get to know each other a little better so they can strengthen their bonds and pull off the greatest performance possible.

Or something like that.

Iwaizumi scans the low lit, and mercifully fairly secluded, bar, stopping once his gaze lands on Suga, leaning against the bar top as he engages to the bartender in conversation, while the bartender himself pretends like he’s actually doing any work.

(He’s been wiping the same glass for the past ten minutes and isn’t fooling _anyone_.)

Iwaizumi gets the distinct impression that Suga’s choice of establishment for their “evening of bonding” wasn’t as random as he’d initially believed. Though, given that the whole idea was, quite frankly, nothing but _bullshit_ since he’s already fairly friendly with both Bokuto and Kuroo _anyway_ , he supposes that he should’ve figured that out _before_ he allowed Suga to drag him along.

The bartender laughs suddenly at something he can’t hear and, even with the dim light of the bar, Iwaizumi can just about note the way Suga’s cheeks have begun to redden slightly. He sighs and turns away, realising that this had probably been his plan all along and that Suga is a lost cause for the rest of the evening.

And apparently, so are the rest of his coworkers.

He bites back a groan as he catches sight of Bokuto, off in a corner far away from their original table, laughing as he mumbles something in his manager’s ear, while said manager tries to keep a straight face. Kuroo, on the other hand, is at the bar, just a few stools down from Suga, ordering some food or maybe even another drink as he chats away with _his_ manager. He sighs and glances at his watch.

It’s not that he’s opposed to their antics - also known as horribly blatant flirting. In fact, he actually encourages it, if only because it’ll give him some much needed blackmail material later down the line when, inevitably, Kuroo and Bokuto get too much for him and he needs a way of reining them in. It’s just—

It’s been a hectic couple of days, what with signing the new contract so soon after arriving back in Japan, and _then_ having their first read through of the completed script. For the last three days, he’s been up at the crack of dawn in order to be ferried away to some ‘secret location’, which never _actually_ stay all that secret until Akaashi takes the much applauded initiative to hide Bokuto’s phone, so they can spend all morning and most of the afternoon in a cramped room, reading through the script.

Being an actor, he thinks wryly as he tries to smother his yawn, isn’t as glamorous as everyone likes to believe and he’s not looking forward to going through it all again tomorrow.

He eyes Suga nervously, wondering just how mad his manager will be if he just suddenly disappears. He’s fairly certain neither Kuroo nor Bokuto would notice, both fully engrossed in whatever they’re doing with their managers and. Iwaizumi glances around the bar, snorting softly as he realises Bokuto and Akaashi have all but disappeared. He gets the feeling that that’s all they’ll be seeing of _them_ for the rest of the evening.

Deciding that since Bokuto’s already jumped ship, Suga can’t be too bad at him for leaving early, especially considering the whole ‘bonding evening’ was actually just a trick so _he_ could cosy up with a certain bartender, Iwaizumi begins to slide out of his chair, eyes focused on the exit just a few metres away from him. He thinks, if he keeps his head low and manages not to bump into anyway, he can probably slip out of the bar without Suga noticing.

The bartender says something to make Suga laugh again and, with Suga distracted, Iwaizumi takes that as his cue to leave. He swings one leg away from the table, planning on making a mad dash for the entrance, when the doors to the bar are flung open and someone saunters in.

Someone that makes Iwaizumi _freeze_.

He watches with narrowed eyes as the reporter from a few days ago, casually strolls through the bar looking for a place to sit. He’s wearing glasses and his hair looks a little different, but Iwaizumi is _fairly_ certain it’s him. He had— Well. He had a _unique_ look to him. Iwaizumi clicks his tongue, eyes still narrowed, as he tries to remember Sort-Of Attractive Reporter Guy’s name.  

He _thinks_ it probably began with an ‘O’. Yeah, definitely an ‘O’. _Oichi_? No. _Oinuma_? Maybe. He’s so caught up trying to remember the guy’s name, he doesn’t even realising he’s approaching him until it’s too late.

 _Oh no,_ Iwaizumi thinks, watching as the man (Oinuma? He’s going to go with Oinuma), stops just a few inches in front of him and regards him closely for a few seconds. Iwaizumi meets his gaze, holding his breath slightly as he waits for the inevitable plea for an interview or an autograph or whatever the hell this (sort-of attractive) reporter wants from him, so he’s more than a little surprised when the reporter (who _might_ be called Oinuma), simply strolls past him and slides into a seat at the table next to his.

There was no recognition in his eyes, no ‘ _are you Iwaizumi Hajime_?”, no...no _nothing_.

Iwaizumi’s frown deepens as he leans back into his own chair and watches the man. He’s flicking through the menu, brows furrowed as he tries to decide what to order. Iwaizumi wonders if maybe he’s made a mistake. Maybe this _isn’t_ the reporter from a few days ago.

“What would you recommend?”

Iwaizumi blinks, unsure of what to say as he watches the man lean across to his table, angling the menu towards him. He doesn’t exactly know what’s happening but he _does_ know, the man sitting across from him is _definitely_ the reporter from the hotel. He may not be good with names, but he doesn’t ever forget a voice.

The man cocks his head to the side and offers him a friendly smile. “Any recommendations?”

Iwaizumi is very, _very_ , confused. Not only is the reporter not begging him for an interview, but he’s pretending like he has no idea just who he’s talking to. It’s— It’s _strange_ , and although he’s more than a little suspicious, Iwaizumi can’t say he’s not _intrigued_ by this turn of events either. He glances quickly over towards Suga, making sure his manager is still in sight in case he desperately needs him, then turns his attention back to the man, who is blinking owlishly at him from behind his glasses.

The glasses that Iwaizumi is almost one hundred percent sure _aren’t_ prescription, given that he definitely hadn’t been wearing them during their first meeting.

“Do you not know who I am?” Iwaizumi ends up spluttering out, immediately cringing as soon as he’s said the words because he’s always strived not to be That celebrity. The celebrity that kicks up a fuss and yells ‘ _do you know who I am_ ?’ whenever some poor soul does them the disservice of not recognising them straight away. But the man in front of him is _confusing_ , because Iwaizumi _knows_ he knows who he is and yet—

“Should I?” He blinks innocently down at him, looking as if he’s genuinely confused by the question. He’s a good actor, Iwaizumi realises, a _very_ good actor. He’s not sure _why_ he’s pretending like they’ve never met before and that he has no idea who he is, but it’s definitely piqued his interest.

Against his better judgement, he slides across the two chairs that separate them and sticks his hand out. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

 

* * *

 

Hanamaki owes him fifty bucks is the first thing Oikawa thinks when Iwaizumi sticks out his hand, a polite smile tugging at his lips as he waits for him to react. The  _next_ thing he thinks is that he  _really_ likes the way Iwaizumi's hand feels in his own.

"Yamada Taro," he says smoothly, gripping Iwaizumi's hand in his own as he recites the fake name he'd decided on earlier. He  _thinks_ he sees Iwaizumi raise a brow in surprise at his name, but before he can pick up on it, his features have smoothed out again and Oikawa decides he just imagined it.

"So, Yamada-san," Iwaizumi says (Oikawa wonders if he's imagining the way his lips twitch upwards slightly), sliding into the seat next to him, "I have to admit, I'm not used to not being noticed." 

Oikawa squirming in his seat, wondering if  _maybe_ going with complete ignorance wasn't his best idea. "I  _thought_ it might be you," he says slowly, trying to save face, "but I thought, what are the odds of finding one of Japan's greatest actors in a random bar? You know?" 

"It's a very high-end bar, Yamada-san" Iwaizumi says pointedly. 

 _Very_ high-end, Oikawa thinks, bitterly remembering just how much he spent on parking. "Well, I still wasn't expecting to bump into you." 

 _Lies_. Hanamaki isn't the only person with sources in the right places after all.

"And what are  _you_ doing here," Oikawa asks innocently, like he doesn't know  _exactly_ what he's doing here and who he's with. "All alone, as well. A lot of people would be very surprised to find  _the_ Iwaizumi Hajime drinking alone in a bar." 

"I'm here with friends," Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes a little. "They've, ah, all found  _better_ ways to entertain themselves though." Oikawa gets the feeling he's enjoying his own little personal joke, but he doesn't press it. "Why are  _you_ here. All alone, as well," he adds, eyes sweeping up and down his body very briefly.

"I was in the area and felt like a drink," Oikawa says, his lie falling from his mouth with practised ease. "This was the first bar I stumbled across."

Iwaizumi doesn't look wholly convinced and to stop him from questioning him any further on his reasons for being in the bar, Oikawa blurts out the first thing that comes into his head. "How's the new script?"

"New script?" Iwaizumi raises a brow. "How'd you know I have a new script?"

 _Shit_.

"I saw it on the news," Oikawa says nervously. "About you signing a new contract. So I just  _assumed_ you'd have a new script."

 _There_ , that was believable, right?

"Ah," Iwaizumi hums and shoots Oikawa a look that seems to pierce his very soul. "And  _not_ because you're a reporter?"

Oikawa freezes, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Ahh Iwaizumi-san, a reporter. _Honestly_ ," he chuckles nervously. "How could I— Please don't be—"

Iwaizumi quirks a brow and Oikawa knows all is lost. 

"How long have you known?" he grumbles, tugging his glasses away from his face and running a hand through his hair to get it back to looking more like it's normal style.

Iwaizumi shrugs and Oikawa is glad to note that he doesn't actually look annoyed. He looks more  _amused_ than anything else. "Since you walked in. You didn't do a very good job of disguising yourself, you know?" 

Oikawa pulls a face, knowing that both Matsukawa and Hanamaki are going to be saying ' _I told you so_ ' for at  _least_ a month when they find out.  _If_ they find out, because he's certainly not going to tell them.

"Why'd you entertain it?" Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi shrugs again and this time Oikawa knows he's not imagining the way his lips twitch upwards slightly. "Wanted to see what you'd pull. I expected you to start begging for an interview straight away, I was—" He clicks his tongue, searching for the right word. "I was  _intrigued_ , when you didn't."

"Of course I didn't," Oikawa snorts, feeling mildly offended that Iwaizumi expected so little from him. "My plan was  _much_ more sophisticated than that."

" _Oh_?"

"Mhm," Oikawa grins, rather enjoying the way he has Iwaizumi's complete attention. " _Much_ more sophisticated."

"Are you going to tell?"

"I was going to woo you."

"You were  _what_?"

" _Woo_ you, you know? Show you the ol' Oikawa charm," he shoots Iwaizumi a wink. "Make you fall head over heels for me then steal all your secrets and get the story of the year." 

There's a pause and then Iwaizumi's suddenly laughing, throwing his head backwards, shoulders shaking, as the loud chuckle spills from his lips without hesitation.

"It's not supposed to be funny," Oikawa sniffs, poking Iwaizumi sharply in the ribs. "It was a  _foolproof_ plan and I would've gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for you meddling Iwaizumi."

"Okay, Scooby-Doo," Iwaizumi sniggers, earning himself another sharp prod in the ribs, "I'm not sure how  _foolproof_ that plan would've been but, I have to admit, it  _was_ an interesting one."

"So interesting, you've had a change of heart and you'll consider doing the interview anyway?" Oikawa says hopefully, grinning down at him.

"Nope."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"I guess I can't," Iwaizumi hums, before he glances up at the bar, brows furrowing into a frown. " _Shit_."

"Iwai-"

"Sorry," he mutters as he slides away from the table. "I've got to get going."

"Oh," Oikawa pulls his lips into a pout as he follows Iwaizumi's gaze to the bar where a man with light grey hair is peering at them nervously. "Is he—"

"Manager," Iwaizumi says quickly. "My manager."

Oikawa nods, grateful for the answer to his unasked question. "Well then, Iwaizumi. Until the next time."

"Next time?"

"Of course," Oikawa grins, leaning back into his seat, threading his hands behind his head, "I'm going to get my interview."

Iwaizumi snorts, lips twitching upwards into that smile Oikawa can see himself becoming very fond of. "Will you now?"

"I will."

"Well," Iwaizumi bows his head slightly and gives him a small wave. "Until next time, then."

"Until next time," Oikawa agrees, feeling more than a little bit elated over the fact that Iwaizumi admits there  _will_ be a next time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: oikawa and iwaizumi debate the legal definition of a kidnapping
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>  
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> (thank you for all the comments omg i've fallen so behind replying lately because of life being poo but thank you!!!)


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